


Mishit

by halfpastmorrow



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-09
Updated: 2010-01-09
Packaged: 2017-10-06 01:19:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halfpastmorrow/pseuds/halfpastmorrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neville wants to be in trouble but Filch doesn't understand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mishit

It had been a risk, to be sure. Dawlish, the new headmaster, might believe in proper forms of punishment, but a word from Potter would bring the wrath of McGonagall down on him quick smart.

Filch hadn't been able to pass up the once in a lifetime opportunity, though. He was a betting man and would have laid odds, even before he saw the mulish expression on the boy's face, that Potter was too stubborn to tell.

He gave Potter a none-too-gentle shove out his office door for good measure, sending him stumbling into the waiting arms of his friends.

Potter didn't flinch. In fact, he didn't react at all, which would have been disappointing but for the oh-so-satisfying stiffness in his gait as he walked away. He didn't seem to know quite where to put his hands either, holding them awkwardly at his sides as though he were torn between assuaging his pride and the soreness of his arse.

Even more satisfying was the way the Granger girl whispered, "He didn't. Did he?" to the last of the Weasley boys in a horrified tone. Perhaps she would learn to keep her nose out of places it didn't belong too.

He watched them trail down the corridor after Potter, and admired his handiwork. He turned away once they had rounded the corner, and only then did he notice the other boy.

Young Longbottom was staring, open-mouthed, through his office door.

"Longbottom!" The boy hadn't been near his office, since he'd given up potions more than a year ago. He had been vaguely sorry at the time; Longbottom was a hard worker and his Missus had been fond of him.

Longbottom, however, kept on staring, not paying him any mind.

Filch got the uncomfortable feeling he knew exactly what had grabbed his attention. A hint of guilt undercut his smugness. It was one thing to play sort of game with Potter and his friends, but Longbottom...

Well, people like them should stick together.

"Listen, lad," he said, in a gruff sort of voice, and laid a hand on Longbottom's shoulder. "There's no permanent damage done."

Longbottom jerked his head up, eyes wide. "No, I didn't... I wasn't," he stuttered, colour suffusing his face. He gaped like a fish for a second, then wrenched out from under Filch's hand and tore off up the corridor, robes flapping.

*

Filch moved slowly down the staircase, careful not to tread on the squeaky boards in the dark. It had been a good night so far - one Gryffindor and a brace of Hufflepuffs already in his bag - and it was still early.

Ahead, he saw his Missus skirting around a patch of lamp light, dainty as always. Her tail twitched expectantly a moment before he heard the soft scuff of shoes on flagstone and knew his good night was about to get even better.

He darted around the corner to catch them in the act.

What he found there could not have been more surprising. Longbottom, dressed in slippers and a pale blue dressing gown. He trailed one hand along the wall, head cocked to the side.

"What are you doing here?" Filch demanded, skidding to a stop. "Are you trying to get in trouble?"

He grabbed hold of Longbottom's arm above the elbow about to wind into his speech on rules and responsibility, but Longbottom looked half-terrified and shivered under his hand.

"No harm done," he said, easing his grip on the boy's arm. "Let's get you back where you belong."

Longbottom dropped his head and his shoulders slumped a little, but he followed readily enough. He seemed more fidgety than usual, though.

Filch churned that over in his mind for a while, then a sly grin stole over his face. "Down here meeting someone, eh? A girl maybe." He tried to remember whether there'd been a girl in the picture lately. He seemed to recall there had been one a while back - funny looking thing - but not lately. "Or a feller, I suppose."

Longbottom made a low choking noise.

Ah, he thought: that answered that. His grin became wider.

Before he had a chance to say anything else, however, he heard the familiar sound of the headmaster's heavy tread coming their way.

"Quick, let's get you out of here." He pushed Longbottom toward a little-used spiral staircase hidden behind a suit of armour. "Six flights will get you back to Gryffindor, understand?"

He gave a resisting Longbottom, who appeared not to recognise danger when he saw it, one last shove, and set off, whistling tunelessly, in the opposite direction.

*

Not two days later, their paths crossed again.

Longbottom exited the Charms classroom at top speed, followed closely by Professor Flitwick, who banged the door shut after them.

Filch stepped back into the shadows.

"Pixies, Neville. All twenty of them," Flitwick was saying, his hat sitting slightly askew. Exasperation drove his voice higher up into the register. "Never in all my born days!"

The sound of breaking furniture emanated from behind the closed door.

Longbottom winced at a particularly loud thud. "Well, I..."

"And after yesterday's fiasco with the painting spell in household charms as well. You haven't had a disaster of this magnitude in years." Flitwick gave him a sharp look. "If it were anyone else I'd think... well, let's just say if it were anyone else we'd be talking about..." Flitwick darted his gaze down the corridor in both directions and lowered his voice. "...punishment."

Longbottom looked crestfallen. "But Professor..."

"You can make your apologies later, Neville. Just run and fetch Professor McGonagall, and for the love of Merlin, be discreet. The last thing we want is for the headmaster to find out.

Filch felt vaguely sorry for the lad, but knew enough to take himself off before he could be roped in to help.

*

An inarticulate shout echoed around the stairwell, and Filch ducked with not a second to spare. A misfired spell shot past his ear in an electric blue crackle and ricocheted off in the other direction, leaving a wide scorch mark on the wall behind him.

He clattered up a couple flights and grabbed the nearest offenders, two thickset Slytherin seventh years, by the scruffs of their necks.

"Well, well, well, who've we got here," he said, and then stopped and stared.

You could have knocked him down with a feather. There was Longbottom again, standing a few feet further up, wand extended in one trembling hand. Books and parchment lay scattered at his feet, and thick green tendrils had begun to sprout from where his eyebrows had been.

Nothing that couldn't be fixed then, but he gave the offending pair a little shake. "Duelling, is it now? Wonder what the headmaster will have to say about that.''

Both boys turned toward him and started talking at once.

"It weren't..."

"Longbottom hexed us..."

"...didn't do nuthin'..."

"...had our backs turned."

"He's the one..."

"...all singed. Look!"

"I see," said Filch, interrupting, "so you expect me to believe that Longbottom here came up and attacked the pair of you. From behind. For no reason at all."

They gaped at him, disbelief fermenting on their faces.

"People fall for such cock and bull stories, do they?" he asked, feeling pleased. He knew these two. Spoiled stupid they were, but you had to get up earlier than that to fool him.

"Mr... Mr. Filch," said Longbottom, parting the now shoulder length fringe of vines with both hands. "It wasn't their fault. It was me."

"No need to make excuses for 'em, lad." Filch gave them another shake. "They'll not bother you again. Or they'll answer to me."

Longbottom lifted his chin, determined. "But really, I was the one who hexed them."

"None of that now," Filch said, turning his head as he pushed the others past Longbottom. "Off to the hospital wing with you. Madame Pomfrey'll put you to rights."

*

All things considered, he should have expected the knock on his door the next afternoon.

"You again."

"Yes, sir," said Longbottom. He passed over a crumpled piece of parchment, all a quiver.

Filch frowned at down at it. "Detention, is it? What'd you do?"

Longbottom looked uncertain.

"Well, out with it. I ain't going to eat you, boy."

Longbottom wrung his hands, and when he did speak, it was all in a rush. "Setthecommonroomonfire."

Filch tried hard not to laugh and pushed the door open wider. "You'd best come on in, then."

Longbottom squared his shoulders as he entered. "Where... where do you want me?"

"What?" Filch asked, looking thoughtfully around the room. Longbottom's eyes flickered from point to point around the room as though too terrified to stop in one place for any length of time. "You're fine where you are." He began to rummage in one of the wooden filing cabinets. "Practising wand movements for your N.E.W.T.s, were you?"

"Er, yeah."

"That conflagration charm, I suppose. Happens every year. Don't know why they don't take it off the curriculum. More trouble than it's worth, if you ask me." After a minute or two, he pulled out a huge pile of parchment. "Right, arms out."

Longbottom jumped as he dumped the whole pile in his arms, sending a few sheets slithering to the floor, and then stared at it in seeming disbelief.

"What's with you today? It's only filin'." Filch scratched his head in bemusement. "Got a bit out of hand, but since you already know the system..."

Longbottom clutched the pile to his chest, eyes fixed on something past Filch's ear. "But I thought..."

Filch followed his gaze to the switch hanging in pride of place on the wall behind the desk. Suddenly the pieces clicked into place. "Nah, I save that for those as needs proper punishment."

"Oh," Longbottom said, in a small voice. He shook his head and shuffled past Filch to the desk. His gaze occasionally strayed upward, as he flicked through the sheets of parchment.

He seemed disappointed, but for the life of him, Filch couldn't understand why.


End file.
